The last judgement
by MyLadyDay
Summary: One lonely painter in search for a muse that would enthrall him and a sculptor with his heart's desire within reach find that everyone is judged in the end, before God or men, it didn't make a difference. Late 16th century Venice AU, double pairing; rated M for descriptions of naked people for now


**This is a (very belated) birthday present for TurtleFriedRice. You know I love you, hoe. She knows why I didn't post it sooner so it's all cool. **

**A/N: Regarding the story, it's late 16****th**** century Venice; at the time, cities were like their own republics with a family leading it. Venice, as those of you that played Assassin's creed know, didn't have a family (like the Medici in Florence), but a doge or duke that was elected for the post. I change this, however, because I needed a family for the story so please forgive me if you care xD I tried keeping the technical terms to a minimum and the marked words are explained at the end, but if there's something you don't understand, feel free to ask. It's going to be a double pairing and both pairings are equally important so I'll try to keep chapters like this prologue. Hope you enjoy this as it will probably be the death of me. The first half was beta'd by Aerle, the sweetheart. Reviews are appreciated, no matter if they're good or bad.**

**Prologue**

**Creation of Adam**

"This way, _maestro*_."

Sanji, roused from his observing of the fresco-covered wall, turned to the servant addressing him. The man wearing crimson and orange trimmed with gold threads with the Portgas family emblem on his chest stood behind him, waiting with his head bowed. The so called "Portgas fire", a intricate combination of reds and gold, adorned the whole palace as well as the whole city of Venice and it was intimidating in its own right, possibly more dangerous than a real flame could ever be. Sanji turned his attention to the servant, glancing over his doublet** made of fine fabrics and his dark hose; the man looked every bit the servant of a ruling family. Appearances were everything, Sanji knew that better than anyone. He turned around fully, facing the bowing servant and started towards the other man who finally straightened his back as he heard footsteps. The servant, however, faced away from Sanji as soon as he could without looking into his blue eyes. It only caused Sanji to smirk; he was very well used to such treatment with his exotic appearance. Blue eyes and hair made of gold were very desired in the cities of the former Roman empire according to the latest fashions, but they were hard to attain nonetheless. His slim figure adorned in royal blue of the finest brocade only served to bring out his northern heritage, mainly the color of his eyes, and thus making him a beautiful sight to behold, indeed.

Following in the shadow of the servant clad in fire, Sanji passed countless frescoes made by masters of the not so distant past and exotic tapestries that served a simply decorative purpose in the warm months and provided a protection from the cold walls in the winter, even if the winter was as mild as the current one. People of all ages dressed in the same crimson uniform passed them by, some openly staring at the blond man, others glancing at him more subtly. He paid them no mind, it was an everyday occurrence after all. His attention was on the halls they walked through as well as the richly furnished rooms they passed by until they finally reached a set of massive, finely carved wooden double doors. The servant stopped and Sanji followed suit, waiting as the other knocked on the heavy wood and entered, announcing his presence. With his name announced, Sanji stepped into the _studiolo***_ of Roger D. Portgas, the most powerful man in all of Veneto. The servant was gone before Sanji could even notice, leaving him in the presence of the middle aged Venetian and, to Sanji's surprise, a familiar blond man sitting on one of the comfortable chairs. With formalities in mind, however, Sanji turned to the raven haired man behind the large wooden desk.

"It is an honor to be invited into your home, lord Portgas," Sanji said with small bow, waiting for the other to extend his hand. As expected, the older man walked around the desk before facing Sanji with his extended hand and an unexpected grin on his face. The young blond accepted the handshake with a strong grip matching the other's strength. It didn't slip past him that depending on the impression he left on the old merchant, he could earn more fame and undoubtedly a huge amount of money.

"No, it is my pleasure to have you here, young _maestro_," came the merchant's reply. "Please, take a seat. Do you know my friend, the Bavarese****?" the older man asked, taking a seat opposite both blondes.

"Yes, in fact," Marco spoke for the first time. "Sanji studied in my workshop for a while before I stopped painting. When I did, master Zeff took him as his sole apprentice." He sat on the chair and Sanji finally had a time to observe him properly. It seemed the man still preferred fashions of his homeland, wearing dark leather hose with a dark blue doublet that was fairly shorter than what the men of Venice preferred. It was even unbuttoned, revealing the pristine white shirt underneath. Still, the man had an air of greatness surrounding him as he would never bow to anyone and he enjoyed great respect for it. His eyes showed an indication of boredom, but Sanji knew for a fact it was far from it; nothing escaped his notice and all that he saw was memorized for whatever purpose he might need it in the future.

"I have a busy day so I would like to discuss the reason I called for you," Roger's serious voice interrupted Sanji's observations. "As you may know, Marco has been working as the family artist for years now and he has recently built a villa in Verona for me," the man continued without interruption. "He will also decorate it with his sculpting talents, but I would like to commission the fresco decorations from you."

As soon as a villa was mentioned, Sanji could have guessed the course of the conversation. Being commissioned by the Portgas family was the highest honor an artist in Venice could get, but it also carried a whole array of other possible issues. Of course, Sanji was aware of both the good that could come of the position as well as the bad, yet he had to accept. Denying a request, because that's what it was, from the most powerful merchant in the city was not a possibility. They asked no questions and they were never refused. With that in mind, Sanji found it best to focus on the riches that would be bestowed upon him for a fairly simple task of decorating a villa.

"Of course, it would be my pleasure," he said with another bow of his head. The older blond next to him undoubtedly knew every single thought that went through his head as he gave his answer; no matter that the three of them already knew what it would be before the supposed question even left Roger's mouth. Still, the merchant grinned, showing his pearly whites as if he was absolutely thrilled by the oh so unexpected answer.

"I am very pleased by your answer, _maestro_, as I am sure I will be thrilled by the works you produce. I have heard only the best about your work," the merchant spoke, his hand motioning into Marco's general direction. "Mostly from dear Marco, of course," he added with a smile.

"Well, he was my finest student, after all," Marco replied with a smirk and Sanji couldn't help but remember it. He had been a young fool; far too young to venture on a journey from Calais all the way to Venice, but somehow he had succeeded. A chill went down his spine as he remembered the time on his voyage as well as his arrival to the city of his dreams. The abundance of people as well as colors and smells made his young mind dizzy. He literally had nothing except the clothes on his back and his talent with a brush, but the city was everything he had dreamed off. Had it not been for the man next to him, however, Sanji didn't want to think what would have happened to him.

With a smile, he turned to his former teacher and gave him a curt bow of his head in thanks for the compliment, but did not reply. There were other matters to discuss and the sooner they got to them, the sooner he would be able to leave the palace. After all, he doubted the old man wanted to exchange pleasantries with the two artists; if his reputation was anything to go by, the man was pleasant only when he needed something and could turn on you as soon as he got whatever it was he wanted.

"As for the commissions, I won't go into detail. Marco knows exactly what I want and the costs for supplies will be handled by my son," Roger said with a sense of finality in his voice. The audience was obviously over and they sat waiting for the man to let them leave. "Before you go, Marco, I would like to remind you that I want the statue for the inner courtyard finished as soon as possible and it better be more magnificent than what those bankers have," he added before standing from his seat.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he said as they both stood. Sanji bowed to his new boss before saying his farewell and starting for the door. Marco followed suit as Roger sat at his desk without sparing them a single glance. The same servant that accompanied Sanji before met them at the door and guided them through the palace. Marco's voice broke the silence.

"Come to my workshop tomorrow and we will go though the plans for everything."

Sanji looked at him and nodded in agreement. "When do we start?" he asked.

"The major construction will be done in a week. You can start on the walls then," Marco replied without looking at him this time. "I trust that's enough time to get all the supplies."

Sanji nodded again, already making a mental list of all necessities, no matter what the commissioned theme for the decoration was. If he was not mistaken, the Red Force just came back from the East. They always carried the best pigments, as Sanji already knew thanks to Usopp, and acquiring some would pose no problem. Only the best and finest for the most powerful man in Venice. Speaking of, Usopp would need to make him some new brushes. The list was growing longer as the two artists stepped out of the palace. It seemed as if they had entered a completely different world; the palace was settled on the main square, in the very heart of the city, yet it was still completely secluded and Sanji felt as if he were miles away from the town while inside the walls of the building behind him.

"As for the first payment…" Marco said as he handed him a piece of paper.

"I will see you tomorrow. I trust you remember where to go," the older blond said as he fixed the light blue hat on his head. "Give my best to that long-nosed friend of yours," he added with a smirk before walking off into the crowd, ignoring all the stares and longing glances he received.

Sanji watched him go for a moment longer, admiring the way his former teacher carried himself; his head was held high, his stride full of confidence as he took in his surroundings, but choosing to ignore them. The younger of the blonds stood before the palace and only remembered the paper in his hands when the other was out of sight. Unfolding it, Sanji didn't really know what to expect, but surely, it wasn't what he found scribbled on it; 1500 florins for the first payment with a note written neatly under the number saying the later payments might increase depending on the work presented. Sanji was amazed, after all, that kind of money was rarely paid for a simple decorating job. Especially just for a first payment before the work even started. It was hard to dwell on the negative aspects of his new job when the positive ones were so tempting.

Sanji folded the paper the way it was and stuffed it into his coin purse. It would do him no good, standing in front of the palace for long. After all, he had other appointments to attend to. The square was bustling with life, even in the slightly chilly weather. Most of the people around him were preparing the city for the impending carnival. The excitement was almost tangible as he walked through the crowd, odd smells reaching him from the market as well as strange languages coming from vendors trying to haggle about their merchandise. The city was as alive as ever with the addition of carnival decoration mostly set into place in the streets and probably in most of the palaces as well, for the wealthier citizens.

Sanji had come to appreciate the carnival more as he grew older, finding that the anonymity the masks provided was more than welcomed as the city went into a state of perpetual adult entertainment in most of the beautiful buildings he passed on his way home. His initial adamancy towards such things subsided as he became aware of the biggest public secret the city of his dreams had to offer; anything and anyone you could imagine was allowed under masks during carnival. Wine was present at every corner and strange substances from faraway lands were easily accessible while the other masked men or women never said no. Of course, no woman ever said no to Sanji, thanks to his looks and natural charm, but it was all more interesting under the cover of a mask. For one, he could pretend he wasn't a foreigner; because that's what he was even after nine years in Venice. His looks separated him from everyone else which could be unfortunate if he were to woo the wrong woman.

Well, unfortunate thoughts aside, he was saddened that the carnival would, for once, have to go on without him. He could hardly ask for more time before starting on the villa and with the necessary preparations he would have to go through alone, Sanji would have to leave the city in a week. That left him with a mere five days of festivities which, in his humble opinion, wasn't even close to being enough.

Sanji strolled across the square, numerous heads turning his way. It would be a lie to say he didn't enjoy the attention of all the ladies, both young and mature alike, as he walked past, but his mind was already working out a plan for the decorations. He observed the people around him as models, giving them ancient identities or turning them into allegories as he walked by, probably to never see them again. In each young lady lies a beautiful Aphrodite, each older _madona*****_ had the potential of a wise Athens and young men fitting to be an Apollo were surrounding them in an abundance. What he lacked, however, was a Hercules or better yet an Ares to keep his goddess of love company. Still, he was getting ahead of himself; Marco had yet to tell him what themes and motifs they would use, what literary background they needed to consult.

He sighed in exasperation. The commission was barely handed to him and he was already getting too excited without thinking of his unfinished works still waiting for him, not to mention all the private commissions he had taken. With no small amount of effort, Sanji ignored the longing looks he was receiving and continued on his way through the alleys of the city. He would have to finish at least one of his works while he still had such magnificent daylight. Quickening his step, Sanji passed the first bridge he came across and caught an empty gondola; he was determined to get home sooner rather than later with this new change of his plans for the near future. The gondolier, thankfully, must have sensed his haste as he set on his way at a quicker pace as soon as Sanji gave him the directions. It was a longer ride than he would have liked with his house at the edge of the city, but it was well worth it. For a master artist, having a clear view of the harbor was priceless and the general lack of other buildings on three sides made for a perfect work space with an abundance of natural lighting.

The rather peaceful ride left him with plenty of time to think about the trouble he was in with his current customers; would they wait longer for their commissions in favor of Roger Portgas having all of his time or would they demand their payments back? If he were any less of a gentleman, Sanji would groan in agitation while stepping on the stoned walkway a short distance from his front door. After paying the man an absurd amount of money for a short ride like the one he had take, Sanji crossed that distance and finally entered the small inner courtyard. It was the only place he could call a home, with his family's palace in Calais being far from it despite all the riches he left behind there. The man who took him in was the only one he considered a father with Usopp being his brother he never had.

"You're late," a voice came from the top of the stairs and Sanji looked up. "You have someone waiting in your studio," Usopp continued with his scolding which in no way matched the way he gently stroked the black fur of a purring cat in his arms.

Sanji stared for a moment longer, but not moving from his place at the bottom of the stairs, before he spoke.

"Usopp, what the hell is that?" he asked with his voice as neutral as possible, but there was still an edge to it. The black haired man, however, was not fazed by what he knew was a hint of annoyance in his blond friend.

"This, _master~_," he said with a roll of his eyes, drawing out the honorific as much as he could. "Is a cat."

"I know it's a cat, Usopp," Sanji parried with an eyeroll of his own. "I meant, what is it doing here?"

"Venus lives here now," Usopp replied with a smile, stroking the cat with more affection. "Your model is still waiting for you in the studio, you know," he reminded Sanji with a smirk.

"Who is it?" Sanji asked as he finally started climbing the stairs, Usopp moving to the side to let him pass then followed behind him.

"How would I know that?"

"You're not a very good assistant, you know," Sanji told him with a soft smile on his lips, one he hope Usopp wouldn't notice, but most likely had like he had always done. The blond was convinced the other could be a praised artist if only he wanted to be, still, Usopp held no such ambitions.

"I am the best assistant seeing as I work for free, if I might remind you," the long-nosed man replied with a deadpan look on his face, the cat meowing as if to back him up. They made it to Sanji's chambers, Usopp lingering in the doorway while Sanji changed into clothes more suitable for work and removed his boots.

"We'll talk about the cat later," he said as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "I'll also tell you about the meeting with Portgas later, but until then, I need you to make me new brushes," he added before leaving the room and making his way for the spiral staircase in the drawing room next to his bedroom.

"Oh, and don't disturb me while I work," Sanji said with a childlike grin, making Usopp sigh.

"What should I do, then?" he asked, knowing what Sanji would be doing.

"Start on supper," Sanji told him with a shrug of his shoulders. "Or actually make the brushes."

Without another word, Sanji descended the stairs and entered his studio without having to use the outer stairs; the winter might have been mild, but it was still cold outside. As soon as he stepped on the carpeted floor, he was bathed in light from the wall of windows overlooking the harbor. Even on a winter day, the lighting in that part of the ground floor was breath taking. He usually spent most of his time in that specific room where the windows covered most of the outer wall; with layers upon layers of soft carpets under his bare feet and tapestries of the finest quality hanging from the walls. Most of them were made years ago after old man Zeff's paintings. Sanji's own paintings lined most of the walls, but he considered none of them perfect enough to hang next to his teacher's work. Not yet, at least, but he would get there one day.

Other than the furnace and a few tables, the room was scarcely furnished. His easel stood in the middle of the room, obstructing his view of the sofa in front of the windows. The only soft piece of furniture in the room was covered in expensive fabrics and pillows from exotic places; the models always liked it best to lounge there while being painted. Amongst other things.

"Sanji~" a soft voice called out to him from behind the easel. "You're late," she said as he smiled and took a few steps, the thick carpets muffling the sound. He was right in front of the unfinished painting mounted on the easel and glanced at it for a moment, contemplating the mistakes he'd need to fix and elements he'd need to finish, before stepping around it to look at the woman on the soft pillows. Her black hair was falling over the smooth Indian silk, creating a strong contrast against the light colored fabric while the long undershirt she was dressed in seemed to blend into the fabrics around it. She was lying on the expanse of pillows and fabrics, nestled into it for additional warmth.

She didn't sound pleased, but her face remained a perfect display of serenity as a noble woman should be. He stood next to his unfinished painting, observing her covered body; covered in the sense that it wasn't naked, but it was far from fully clothed and he could see every curve. Not like he didn't know all of them after countless hours of observing, painting and simply worshiping her like she should have been worshiped. Still, he enjoyed just looking at her, lying there where many others were before her and would after she left. He had many ladies to worship, after all, but he was already in carnival spirits and she would simply not be enough.

"I am truly sorry, my fair lady," he said with a short bow, his shirt moving freely and revealing his chest ever so slightly, but enough for the dark haired woman to sit up. Her interest was piqued, only then noticing his casual, borderline inappropriate attire. He was still more clothed than her, though, but she made no attempt to cover herself. "But I will make it up to you," he added as he straightened his back, the shirt falling back into place. The woman observed him with mild curiosity even though she knew what he was oh so subtly hinting at.

"Oh?" she said as she finally stood up. The white almost see-through fabric of her shirt was swinging around her as she walked, swaying her hips in a manner so seductive that Sanji couldn't help but stare. He was used to this sort of thing and he would be lying if he said he didn't like it, but he was rarely the one that would get excessively smitten.

Bare feet moving across the carpet, her footsteps were muffled as she approached Sanji. Lifting her hand to run her finger down his neck and exposed bit of his chest, she asked: "And how are you going to do that?" The sly smile on her face indicated that she knew exactly how he was going to make it up to her, but he simply smiled back at her before lifting his hands to her shoulders. All it took was a slide of his hands over her shoulders and the only garment she wore slipped off of her. She stood naked in front of him, not even bothering to look shy as she knew he wouldn't be convinced.

"I'm going to finish your painting first," he whispered in her ear as he started moving forward, guiding her back to the pillows that still held the shape of her body. With warm and steady hands, Sanji settled her into the pose he was painting for a while already and she let herself be handled like that, with his hands roaming over her skin ever so often.

He was going to finish the painting and say goodbye to her; enjoy the carnival with someone who he knew would satisfy his every need before going to Verona. A change of scenery and a new muse would do him good.

* * *

It had been seven years since Marco had worked for the Portgas family; seven long years and not once was he asked to hire outside help. It was, perhaps, slightly distressing when he was asked to find a painter for the major _fresco _decorations and wall paintings. Yes, he had worked for him for a long time, but Roger was hardly a sentimental man and wouldn't even dwell on the prospect of replacing anyone that wasn't of immediate importance to him. What Marco struggled to understand, to his great annoyance, was why he would be considered for replacement. It was even more confusing with the commission of the sculpture of David he had been reminded of. It might not have been as bad, though, since Marco himself was given the task of choosing the artist he would be working with. Whether he was choosing his own replacement, it was hard to tell.

Without a doubt, he would not come to regret picking Sanji out of all the masters in the city after knowing him for as long as he did. Despite his reputation as a womanizer, the young Frenchman also had a reputation as one of the best rising artists in the region and as such would profit greatly from a commission for the biggest patrons of art in Venice.

As they sat in Roger's _studiolo_, Marco couldn't help but worry for a fleeting second. Certain things and people became a constant in his life as he accepted the position of the official family architect and artist, whether he liked to admit it or not. Terminating his employment would certainly affect his life greatly.

He hadn't been expecting a refusal on Sanji's part, even if the younger man looked like he wasn't completely pleased with the way things went in the meeting; Marco learned the hard way that refusing Roger was in no one's best interest. Something many people had the displeasure of learning. With that in mind, Marco could not refuse Roger's commission for a sculpture of David to be displayed in the inner courtyard of the family's town palace. The deadline was far too close for comfort and he had difficulties finding a model that would be of satisfying appearance. After all, he was expected to surpass the famous David from Florence and he couldn't do it without a proper model.

By the time both blonds left the palace, Marco had felt more determined than ever to finally choose someone to pose for him; he would have to, at any rate, if he wanted to finish the sculpture in time. If not, he would most likely get replaced. His course of action for the day, after shocking his younger friend with the first payment, would be choosing a model and starting on some preparation sketches for poses before selecting the best marble.

After saying goodbye to Sanji, Marco walked through the square paying no mind to the glances cast his way. Long since has he stopped caring about them as he found how fickle and shallow most of the people in the city were; with nothing but looks and the latest fashions in mind, most of them craved only for attention and fame. Which was everything he had wanted, everything that drove him to the city his father had called a lair of immorality and corruption. In a city that valued good looks more than anything, finding a perfect model should have been easy, but Marco put the bar fairly high for what should have been his best work.

Walking through familiar streets, he briefly considered the possibility of visiting Izo and seeing if he had anyone who fit the description he was looking for, but dismissed the idea as soon as it came to him. That would certainly put him in Izo's debt and being in Izo's debt was a very horrifying place to be, something he would avoid at any cost. Still, if none of the apprentices found anyone, Izo's establishment was exactly where he would have to go. Marco sighed as he made peace with what was apparently his final option, but still prayed that someone, no matter who, found a decent looking lad to take the role of David.

The walk was fairly short and the ruckus on the street couldn't begin to compare to the bustle of his home. The workshop stretched over the entire ground floor of his home and, even while it was a fairly large space in normal circumstances, it was crowded by numerous finished as well as unfinished sculptures, tools and a select few of Marco's apprentices. He could see a customer or two inspecting their almost finished commissions and the nervous apprentices who were unlucky enough to have to deal with them.

He walked through the workstations and checked up on each of the artists in training under his care; most of them were new, only working on preparing the blocks of stone or sharpening his tools, but the ones that were with him longer or showed a more prominent talent worked on less important details of Marco's almost finished sculptures. It was a regular working day, to say the least, but Marco found himself more nervous than he had been in a long while. The whole trouble with the damned David sculpture was grating on his nerves more than he would like to admit, feeling the pressure of possibly falling out of Roger's graces. He was hardly sentimental, just like the old merchant himself, but he would probably have to leave the city to look for a new employer. He was, in his own opinion, too old for that.

The blond _maestro_ finally reached Haruta, the apprentice that had been with him the longest, and admired the younger man's astonishing work for a moment. He was the only one allowed to work on more important pieces and Marco was sure the other would be able to take on commissions by himself fairly soon.

"_Maestro_, you're back," Haruta said, cutting off Marco's musings about the other's progress. "You have a model waiting for you in your studio," he added and the blond stared in surprise.

"You found me a model?" he asked. "For the David?" Relief was washing over him as a smile made its way on his face, the day's worries melting away.

"No, I was looking for one, but I gave up since you found someone," Haruta replied as Marco's face turned to one of confusion. "You can finally start now," the younger man added.

Marco was relieved, of course, but still no less confused as he certainly did not find someone. He struggled for far too long before passing the task to the first poor soul he could. Haruta was right, however, he could finally start and maybe salvage the situation before it escalated to a point of no return. Deciding that the solution to his problem was heaven sent, Marco opted for starting on his sculpture before anything else went wrong.

"I'm going to go work, then. You take care of things here," the blond said before taking his leave. He had his own studio in the workshop; a separate room where he used to paint, using it only for making sketches as his workshop grew, but mostly retreated there when he wanted solitude. It was smaller and cleaner than the main workshop room, also more comfortable with an amazing amount of pillows dressed in the finest silks littering one corner where his models used to recline while posing for his paintings. His books lined one of the walls, covering it from floor to ceiling thanks to a certain red haired merchant who brought new books for him whenever he would dock in Venice. The wall opposite the heap of pillows, however, was pierced with multiple windows letting the bright light fall onto the body he would paint. He missed painting at times, but his art grew beyond the flat surface of a canvas and he could no longer show it in such a way. His works grew in size, interacting with the space around them and became part of it. He didn't create, he liberated the works of art from the marble they were captured in******.

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to think about who it could be waiting for him, but it was no use as he was still too surprised to think straight. Marco opened the door and let his gaze wander over the well known room; the light filtering through the windows was bright and almost blinding at first giving the room a celestial glow, making the expensive fabrics and furniture shine brighter than usual. The light fell heavily on the expanse of pillows and the male figure clad in a simple white shirt reclining on the soft surface. Marco recognized him instantly, from his black hair across the freckled face decorated with a smile both innocent and devious at the same time to the small family crest shining from the ring on his finger. His heart clenched at the sight and his chest filled with a panic he wasn't accustomed to. Hastily, he entered the room even as he was compelled to run away as far as he could and closed the door behind him, bolting it shut out of fear of someone finding the freckled man almost naked in his studio.

"You shouldn't be here," he said at last, his eyes fixated on the man he could call nothing else but the bane of his existence. The young man whose smile could shine as bright as the summer sun, yet he was like a furious storm to Marco; the blond spent years evading the devastation he was sure would catch up with him eventually. He had never been more certain that it was approaching at a mortifying speed, ready to overwhelm him and he knew he would not be able to fight it any longer once it hit.

A pair of eyes as dark as the night were observing him with undivided attention, the smile never falling from the freckled face. He remained sprawled out on the soft colorful pillows, neither moving nor speaking as Marco stood by the door, waiting for something to leave the other's lips. Still, he couldn't let it remain the way it was and he spoke again.

"Why are you here, Ace?" he asked with a sigh. His mask of indifference was as prominent as ever, but he didn't have a second doubt that the younger man looking at him knew every single thought that went through his head.

"You need a model for your sculpture," he replied as if they were discussing the weather. "So I humbly offer my services," the younger added, his eyes never leaving the bored looking blond as he slowly leaned forward, the shirt gliding over his chest. Marco knew Ace was aware of what he was doing and he knew the freckled man was, as countless times before, doing it on purpose. The blond's resolve to keep away was slowly crumbling with each smile and meaningful glance Ace sent his way in rooms that were far too crowded; something that happened far too often and Marco couldn't believe it never occurred to him that the raven head's father might have noticed at some point.

"You can't be here," Marco said again. It was tiring, dealing with a boy that became more tempting as he grew older; both on purpose and unintentionally as he matured into a man far too dangerous for Marco. Of course, Ace wasn't dangerous in the way his father was, but Roger would hardly react kindly to knowing his son had his eyes set on an employee and a man, no less. The fact Marco barely restrained himself from giving into Ace's attempts would be received in an even deadlier manner. He had enough sense to ignore the other's advances and pretend they were not real, but it could not and would not go on forever; he could give in to the boy and the other might lose his interest after getting what he wanted or the old man might find out and deal with him the way he dealt with all of his enemies. Either of those would leave him ruined and he knew it, the difference was simply in whether he would be tainted emotionally or found floating dead in a canal.

He barely noticed when the younger man finally rose from his place in the pillows and moved towards him, but he did acknowledge it in time to move backward and away from the other. Ace seemed to notice and stopped; Marco couldn't decide whether he was thankful for it or not. Standing in front of him in nothing but a pristine white shirt, Ace was directly in the path of the still bright sunlight. The light easily went through the thin fabric and revealed to Marco everything that lay beneath. It seemed accidental enough, but he wouldn't put anything past the freckled man.

As Marco stared, transfixed at the almost naked body in front of him, realizing Ace was indeed the perfect model for his sculpture. He also realized he would never again be able to call the other a friend; after their current situation, they clearly passed a line that could never be brought back. Marco could no longer ignore the obvious cries for attention the other was directing his way, not with them being alone in a locked room, nor could he push him away completely.

"You need me," Ace said with a soft expression, his face no longer showing the danger, but only the innocent friendliness he saved for the closest of friends. "Your apprentice told me your deadline is close and you cannot find someone to pose. So I am here," he said and attempted to approach Marco once again, but a hitch in the blond's breath made him stop before he even moved properly. A flicker of something that looked like remorse to Marco passed across the freckled face in front of him, but it was gone before he could be sure and replaced by the same soft smile.

"I'm here to help," Ace continued and his voice held such tenderness, Marco could hardly say no to the other even if he knew it was the same as signing his own death sentence. Before he realized what he was doing, the blond found himself retrieving several papers from the desk by the wall behind him and a stick of charcoal.

"Very well," he said to Ace and sat down on his chair that still faced the empty easel. "You have to do as I say and try not to move," he started his instructions and paused for a short moment as the other nodded excitedly. "Stand like that so I can sketch you like this first," he continued and noticed with a smirk how the other stiffened at the words with an expression of pure concentration on his face. Quickly he fastened a piece of paper to his small drawing board and turned his attention to his model.

With this, Marco was given permission to stare at the other's body without shame or the need to hide his gaze; he took a long moment to rake over the other entirely, taking in every bit of muscle he could. The light was bright enough for him to see through the shirt, but the fabric still gave an air of mystery to the toned body as a whole and Marco started drawing. With a slight bout of shame, he admitted to himself that the first sketch was more for him than for the sculpture as he had no intention of breaking tradition and sculpting David dressed in anything except perhaps antique armor.

His strokes were steady and fast, but light on the surface of the fragile paper as he marked the firm muscles and curves that lay barely hidden under white fabric. He glanced up at the face he wasn't supposed to sketch, but decided to do so anyway and was met with those damned dark eyes that would haunt him until the day he died, most likely. Focusing on the face as a whole rather than just the eyes, Marco continued his drawing, making quick work of the features he already knew by heart. He rose from his chair and walked around his model to draw him from every angle. No longer focusing on the drawing as he had, he let his eyes wander over the other; Ace could not see him staring and he took advantage of the fact.

Alas, he could not do it forever. He walked back to his chair and took another piece of paper, replacing the new sketch with it on the board. Ace was silent, waiting for further instructions and Marco prayed his will was strong enough for the next step in the process.

"Take the shirt off," he finally muttered, trying not to look at the other, but he still noticed the look of surprise on the freckled face. It almost made him chuckle; the person that had been trying to seduce him for years already was in front of him, removing the last piece of clothing from their body with a dark blush firmly in place. Marco could not say he had expected Ace to, after numerous attempts at getting either of them naked, get the chance to show himself fully in front of the person he desired and finally show a bit of embarrassment. It was oddly innocent of him, something Marco hadn't seen in his younger friend in quite some time as he had only deemed him a threat to his sanity.

Ace did as he was told after the surprise subsided, but the blush was still present as he stood completely bare under Marco's gaze. Marco smiled as he looked into the stormy eyes and approached the other, finally steeling himself to treat Ace as he would treat any other model. His hand shook the tiniest bit as he walked behind the shorter man, before touching him at last. He felt Ace shiver at the touch, but neither spoke and he simply resumed moving Ace's body into the pose he had wanted. Marco tried his best to keep the contact to a minimum, but it still sent waves of shivers through his body as his fingertips moved across skin that could easily be compared to the valuable silk Ace rested on only a short while before.

Reluctantly, he let go and stepped back to observe what he had done. Ace stood with one of his hands lifted, pointing into the distance while the other rested by his side, the forearm lifted and the hand outstretched where it would hold a slingshot. His balance was on his right leg, highlighting his hip and leaving the other leg lazily bent next to the straight right one. The muscles on his back were more prominent than before, making the curves more visible. Slowly, Marco walked around Ace, his eyes never leaving the stiff body as he glanced over every little detail. With Ace's back completely straight, his abdominal muscles were stretched out and perfect leaving Marco with an urge to touch. Still, he restrained himself and remained professional, moving along to check if every muscle was as perfect as it should have been.

Of course they were, he found as he finally finished the circle around Ace's still body and stopped at his starting point behind the other's back. He sighed in frustration; accepting the younger man's offer was a stupid decision, one he would most likely come to regret eventually, but it was too late to back out. He didn't have time to find another model and he was painfully aware that he could never find someone as perfect as Ace. It was meant in regards to the model for the sculpture, but he couldn't help but think the other wasn't perfect only in that sense.

Shaking his head to rid himself of such troublesome thoughts, Marco walked back to the chair and started drawing without a word; it would be hard for Ace to stay in that position for very long and he needed a few sketches, one from each side, to completely capture the pose. The room was steadily growing darker, but he did not really notice as he focused on what was in front of him.

Marco was drawing the final sketch, one from Ace's left side, when he finally noticed the freckled man's arm shake. Snapping out of his focus, he realized it was no longer bright in the room. He quickly finished the sketch, one he could easily do without, and grasped Ace's hand to lower it without thinking about what he was doing.

"Do you always draw in the dark?" Ace broke the silence after what felt like ages of neither of them speaking. "I always thought artists adored the sunlight with a burning passion," he added with a smile, directing his gaze towards Marco's eyes which were a stark contrast to Ace's dark ones.

"I am no longer a painter," Marco replied as he walked to the easel where his numerous sketches lay. "The sunlight is not important for my art nor does it play a vital part in my life, I believe," he said, realizing how saddening that might sound.

"Of course it does," Ace countered. "You cannot claim you would be able to live without the sun," he continued, sounding outraged at what Marco had said. Marco, however, couldn't help but think of all the times he had compared Ace to the sun; how brightly it shone and warmed everything in sight, a constant in his own life no matter how he claimed otherwise. His statement was even more true if he talked about Ace as if he were the sun, though. He had lived alone for longer than he remembered, without needing anyone else whether it be family or a constant lover, a woman he could possibly marry and start a family with to replace the one he had left behind ages ago.

"I am all that I believe in and all that I could possibly need to continue my life," he finally replied with a playful smile on his face, one that showed he was possibly joking, but also marked the end of the conversation. Before Ace could continue in the dark direction the discussion was going, Marco spoke again.

"As you said, it is too dark already," he said. "You should get dressed before you catch a cold," he added, seemingly reminding the other that he was indeed still naked. Even if it seemed redundant, Marco turned out of courtesy while Ace dressed himself in the clothes he must have left somewhere in the pillows.

"It doesn't suit you to talk like my father," Ace said from somewhere behind him. "You're far too young for that."

Marco chuckled this time; age might have been a sensitive subject for him at times, but the way Ace spoke seemed far too childlike and amusing.

"I don't speak like your father," Marco said, wanting to continue, but Ace cut him off.

"Yes, he never showed concern for my health," he mused, speaking in a manner that could not be called resentful, but it wasn't as lighthearted as Ace had probably intended it to be. "But I would rather not talk of my father. When do you leave for Verona?" Ace asked, his voice suddenly closer to Marco than it had been mere moments before, making the blond flinch in surprise.

"In a week," he replied, turning to the freckled man, not wanting to leave his back turned to the other.

"You're going to miss the carnival!" Ace exclaimed as if it were the greatest injustice in the world to which Marco simply smile again.

"I will be here for the first few days, but I doubt I will occupy myself with it for more than just the first night," he said, knowing that his days of indecent adventures under intricate masks were probably over. Mostly because he held no interest in enjoying the company of strangers under masks as he did years before.

Ace shared a smile with him, seemingly innocent, but Marco could have sworn it held something else as well. "I will, perhaps, see you on the first night, then," Ace said and, finally completely dressed, walked to the door to unbolt it with ease.

"Good night, _maestro_."

With that he was gone, leaving Marco alone in the ever darkening room, already wondering if he had imagined it all.

***maestro – a title used for artists, masters of their trade that had their own workshop**

****doublet – man's snug-fitting buttoned jacket that is shaped and fitted to the man's body (for this period, they're thigh-length mostly, but can also be shorter)**

*****studiolo – a study or office, rich men and women alike had them, usually covered with art and used for meetings with other intellectuals **

****** Bavarese – a man from Bavaria (yes, Marco is German). It was common for an artist to get a name like that based on their place of origin **

******* madona – in this context it means mrs. or madam ('mona' often used for short), but can also be used for the Virgin Mary in paintings**

******** this is actually how Michelangelo described his work in marble**


End file.
